The Life and Times of Basil Holmes
by sherlollymouse
Summary: When Sherlock returns to Baker Street, he discovers 221B has another tenant. He's small and brown and as clever as his lot could possibly be.
1. Introductions

_**In another fan fiction (not sure if I'm suppose to name it, but I have no problem sharing in IM) its mentioned only 2x that a mouse named Basil existed (a reference to The Great Mouse Detective), so I decided to write about him only instead of him having been there when John was there, I've decided he moved in during the time the apartment was abandoned. **_

The day had been hard for Sherlock. Coming back from the dead was not an easy task, not that he expected it would be, but John's reaction to his resurrection was not favorable.

Even though he'd washed up, gotten a nice shave and the like at Mycrofts that afternoon, he felt the over whelming need for a soak in a hot bath and a meal.

He'd only had some chips while fighting with John earlier and, frankly, they weren't sitting all that well with him, but he was still hungry and craved something filling.

Of course, it had been a feat to calm Mrs. Hudson down. He'd gotten smacked with a pan and his ear drum was still vibrating, but once she had calmed down and he explained the situation, she was over joyed and immediately prepared him a nice plate of food. It was her left overs, obviously, but she thrust it in front of him, excited and crying and seemed to be _petting_ him with her free hand.

It'd been nice to see that his flat was largely untouched and even all his clothes were still there, but it also drove home how much he'd hurt the people he loved; no one had had the bravery to pack his things away or sell them. It was a bit like a dusty museum…. but it was home. After two years, he was home.

As welcoming as his bed was after his long soak, though, he could do little but toss and turn and after several frustrating hours, he opted to have a cup of tea.

His eye shifted over the linoleum, observing and tracing its pattern with his eyes. He'd remembered it, actually. While he was away, he'd actually had dreams about this floor. He had missed the floor, the nooks, the crannies, the cracks, the bubbles and chips…. The whistle of the kettle tore him out of his daze.

Before he came back, he honestly believed that John would stay in 221B. He honestly hadn't expected to be living alone. Not that it was a problem. Of course it wasn't a problem, it would be silly for anyone to assume it was a problem for him. He'd lived alone before and he had traveled for two years breaking up Moriartys network and he really only had himself. Sure, there were the rare text messages he would send to Molly, no more than 76 throughout the entire one year and eleven months he was away from her and he'd been able to get a few letters back and forth…. four total, then there was the run in with The Woman. That had been interesting. Nothing had happened, but seeing a familiar face was nice.

Point being, he hadn't had a lot of social contact. Being a high functioning sociopath, though, he decided, it was probably for the best.

There was no way in this world he was, or would even admit if he happened to be, - lonely.

That was completely ridiculous. Sherlock Holmes was not lonely. He was absolutely not lonely and anyone that thought that would have to be a complete idiot.

He sat at the table with his tea and played with the spoon a bit, dreamily; completely unfocused, for maybe an entire minute before the sound of squeaking and desperate scratching drug him back into the moment.

In front of the sink and below the window, there was a loose brick, splashed with a bit of white. At one point, he had moved some of his cigarettes there when he had quit. The ruckus was coming from there. Slowly, he crept over and slid the brick out revealing a small brown mouse, who immediately jumped onto the counter, knocked over some seasoning and appeared to have a bit of a fit.

"Hello." Sherlock smiled at his new friend. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, and you are?" He watched the mouse right himself and shake off the stale seasoning as he rolled the bottle off the counter and into his hand. "Basil…." He read. "Is the name Basil agreeable to you?" The mouse appeared to acknowledge him at that point and was, surprisingly, not afraid of the human in front of him. "Well, I don't have much, but on my way home I got some biscuits. No, I don't know why, but would you like to join me for tea?" Basil brushed off the remaining of his name sake and stepped towards Sherlock who allowed him to walk into his hand. With the other, he gathered the biscuits from a cupboard and placed them on the table. Once everything was together, he poured some tea into a saucer for his new pal and broke off a bit of biscuit for him.

"So, well…. its nice to meet you…. have you been on a long holiday,too?" The detective observed how fast the mouse was eating and drinking up the tea. "Here, have a bit more."

With a sigh, Sherlock began talking. Talking a surprising amount, actually. He told the little brown mouse his entire life story and simply couldn't stop himself. By three in the morning, he was stifling himself because he found himself giggling while sharing stories about his friends. "They're all good people, Basil. You'll definitely get to meet Molly and …. George? Well, Lestrade. John, I'm not sure of at this point…. Mary did say she'd talk to him, but I'm not sure what will come of that." He paused for a long, deep breath. "Listen, Basil, I'm fairly certain my brother will be around early tomorrow morning, so I should give sleeping another go, but you're welcome to come back around for tea tomorrow. Not sure what I'll be doing, but you can pop in."

Basil did. Frankly, Sherlock was relieved he showed up. The pleasant brown rodent hopped onto the counter as Sherlock was coming in for tea after his soak and before bed.

"Basil! Let me put the kettle on!" He brought the mouse over to his table. "I've had a day, Basil, really. I pulled John out of a bonfire." Sherlock widen his eyes and tightened his smile."Don't make jokes like that, Basil. 'Jon-fire', very much in bad taste." He turned to answer the kettle. "Although, seeing as he's alright now, that is a bit funny, but not too funny." Just as last night, he poured some tea onto a saucer with a bit of broken up biscuit and recounted his day. He told him about putting Mycroft in his place and spending the day with Molly. "I think, well… I may have made a bit of a fool of myself. I called her John. Only once though and to be fair, it had been weighing on my mind." Basil had paused and stretched his body up, looking to Sherlock and squeaking a response. "Well, she's engaged and caring is not an advantage anyway, so it doesn't really matter. What matters is that she's happy." Another squeak from his furry company. "No." He breathed a long heavy sigh. "But, thats who she's chosen and I'm going to respect it because thats what friends do. Moving on though, speaking of choices, John has made a fine one. Mary Morstan is quite clever and brave…. Saw the skip code...She was right there next to me, even pulled at the bonfire with me, tried to help me pull him out." He shook his head. "Johns smart, choosing her…. I mean, I like her. She obviously cares very deeply for him. And, ya know, I think she actually likes me." He chortled. "Not many other humans seem to enjoy my company. They find me a bit rude… cold, abrasive,… even cruel… It helps, though, to not have a lot of friends. Could you imagine having to keep up with and care about the nonsense happening in dozens of ordinary peoples menial lives. I mean, really. Four friends is enough. Well, maybe Five…. or three…." He looked a bit sad as he met Basils eyes again. "We will see, though, I'm certain things will work out as they should. I mean, I tried… thats all I can do, right?" The mouse looked just as confused as Sherlock sounded. "I know, sometimes people are strange. This is what happens when you care, though. Mycroft warned me for years. 'Caring is not an advantage.' Sentiment is a waste of time and energy." Sherlock tilted his head, much like a dog confronted with an unfamiliar noise or word. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" There was a squeak and messy biscuit chomping in response. "You're right. I'm not stupid. I'm a genius. Why would I ever think otherwise?"


	2. Welcome Home

The third day, it seemed, Basil had learned when Sherlock had his evening tea and came trotting out as the late night kettle whistled.

"Ah, there you are, Basil! I was hoping you'd come back." The detective smiled, eager to share his day. "I saved England today." He hummed. "Well, just Parliament and anyone in the direct vicinity of the bomb I stopped from going off, so I saved most of London, though, they _are_, arguably, one in the same." Holmes prepared his 'friends' tea, set them both on the table and responded to his squeals with a simple. "You're welcome." as he took his own seat. "Good news, though, I got John to forgive me. Promised him I wouldn't tell anyone how I got him to, but it was quite funny."He giggled. "Oh, and my parents came by today." A long sighed. "Promised to ring them more often. Mother may find a way to hold me to that." the mouses squeaks received a chortle in return. "I suppose they are, aren't they? Oh, well." Sherlock broke another biscuit up for Basil but the mouse had wandered away and was climbing onto the iPhone not far from his setting. "Oh, no. Wouldn't want you to damage that." The little guy stared up at his dark haired host. "No, I don't believe you would do anything on purpose, but accidents happen."

_squeak._

"Oh, fine. Here. How about this?" He opened up the keyboard app on his iPhone and the rodent climbed aboard and began carefully applying his weight to the digital keys. "I'm pretty sure I neglected to tell you about John having grown a mustache. It was terrible. But, it seems he saw reason and shaved it off." Another small chuckle escaped his lips and his face crinkled. "That's good, want me to write it down for you?" The offer was given with a smile at the small mouse,who appeared to be stomping out a tune that only made sense to him.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Are you doing the same?" Sherlock could only interpret the rodents glance as an affirmative. "What kind of mouse problems could you have?" Now, he imagined the new expression was a dirty look. "Quite right, I don't like to talk about what I'm thinking when I'm playing, either. Sometimes, its to do with sentiment and things of that nature should be worked through privately anyway." He took a long sip of tea and watched the mouse attempt to figure out the keyboard some more. The animal appeared to understand a certain amount of pressure applied to the screen would create a pleasant noise. "Music is a great thing, Basil. It does wonders! You should learn how to dance."

"You seem quite clever for a mouse…. would you like to meet my other friends?" There was no way his new flatmate would possibly refuse, so he continued on."I should teach you a few social niceties. Granted, its not exactly my area, but I was raised well enough and John has been invaluable in that area. So, where should we start?" Tapping his foot, the mouse seemed very focused, having abandoned his new instrument and inched toward Sherlock. "Well, I guess it would make sense to start with how to greet. Since you can't speak, you won't have to learn much." Did the mouse express concern or worry of some sort? "Oh, don't worry, people talk too much anyway. You're lucky you met me first or who knows what sort of chatterbox you'd have ended up with." The detective broke only to roll his eyes and sigh. "Mrs. Hudson, for example. Just endless babbling about nothing important whatsoever. Anyway, I think we should maybe try shaking hands. Yes, that could work nicely. I shake hands a lot. Thank goodness for gloves, there's an abundance of execrable hand washers out there. Its a bit disturbing, actually. But, at any rate, if you don't mind, your paw, please." As the mouse adjusted onto his hind legs, seemingly in understanding of the request, and the human gently took the mouses paw between two fingers so he could move the paw in an up and down motion for a few moments before releasing it. "There we go, quite easy, don't you think? Would you like to try again?" Thoroughly convinced Basil's squeak was an affirmative, he repeated the motion.

It was obvious Sherlock was pleased with himself and throughout the evening, he and Basil "practiced" shaking hands. "You'll really like John. He's a stand up guy, I mean, well, he's friends with _me_, of all people, so… if that tells you anything." There was a bit of a fuss of brown fur on the table. "Well, its nothing to get upset about! I'm just saying that I am….not well received by the general human population…. how many times must I tell you this?" Basil began cleaning his fur. "Ah. New people make you nervous? Don't be nervous. He's kind and, well, if he can make an attempt to understand me" heavy sigh. "He'll definitely be open to someone like you. You don't exactly do much to irritate people, do you?"

_squeak._

"Oh, thats normal mouse behavior, though. Its extremely foolish of anyone to simply hate a creature based on how it fulfills its base survival instincts. Honestly, I've never had problems with your people. We've seemed to always have an understanding." Looking at the time as he finished his mug and debated having another, he saw it was nearly two in the morning. "What do you say, Basil? Shall we call it a night, or have one last cuppa?" The mouse merely trotted over to his saucer and looked up expectantly. "Very well, we'll finish this kettle and then I really must go to bed. Lots to do tomorrow, what with my resurrection being public knowledge now and all. I suspect I'll spend most of the day dodging phone calls and texts from my brother." Sherlock prepared his friends saucer with a certain level of notable affection and gave the tiny thing that most would call a pest a brush with his hand. "See, Mycroft made the mistake of inviting our parents to a matinee of _Les Mis_ and has been trying to pawn it off on me ever since." He paused to snicker and roll his eyes as well as take a breath. "He made his own bed, don't you think?"

_squeak._

"Absolutely, I knew you'd see it my way. It was his ridiculous idea…. I'll also expect to see John and Mary again tomorrow… that's something to look forward to...and I think Molly might be bringing….Tom over." Basil paused from his munching and looked up at Sherlock. "Don't be silly, I just want her to be happy. She's a very good friend and she deserves it and I'll not be so presumptuous as to assert myself in her romantic affairs. It's simply not my place to tell her what makes her happy and what doesn't." The little mouse adjusted and cocked its little head. "Of course not, I told you that… but it's not my business at all. Anyway, eventually, you'll meet them all."

_squeak._

"Well, John was an army doctor. He got shot in Afghanistan, developed a psychosomatic limp and that's when I met him…. Jeff Lestrade I met first. John had trouble believing this about me for some reason at first, but there was a point in time where I was… seriously reliant upon certain illegal substances. That's how I met George. I was high and approached him to help him with a murder investigation. He was one of the people that helped me become more independent from the drugs I was taking. Sometimes I still miss getting high, but such is the life of an addict…. that's why I have to solve crimes. It seems to illicit the same response in me that the drugs would."

_squeak._

"No, I don't know why. There's a police sergeant named Sally Donovan that likes to believe I get sexual gratification out of solving murders and showing people how oblivious they can be."

_squeak._

Sherlock's face wrinkled.

"What? No!" He scoffed. "That's not the case at all, I was just sharing her opinion because it was funny and shows just how they must see me. Inappropriately excited about a new corpse or something equally as gruesome in their opinions." Basil walked over to the detective and climbed up his arm to perch on his shoulder. "Well, you're pretty affectionate once you get to know someone, aren't you?" Sherlock reached up and brushed his new companion for the second time that night. As he finished his tea, he thought to himself that rekindling his old friendships and making a new one was definitely the best homecoming he could have had.

* * *

_**In the next chapter, Sherlock introduces John and Basil to each other.** _


	3. My Friend, My Flatmate, My Experiment

"I'm not going to lie," John Watson followed his friend into the kitchen. "I have ulterior motives for staying here so late."

"Ulterior motives?" Sherlock filled the kettle and placed it on the stove.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson asked me to. Apparently, she's worried about you." Facing the doctor with arms folded across his chest, he scoffed.

"Mrs. Hudson worries when I get the sniffles. What's she on about now?"

"Says she wakes up in the middle of the night to hear you carrying on."

"Carrying on?"

"Yeah… you know, talking and laughing…. she says you seem to be having entire conversations by yourself."

"Thats ludicrous. I wasn't talking to myself."

"I know, I told her how you use to talk to me when I wasn't….."

"I've company come for tea."

"What?" The response was a hum as the host turned on his heels at the sound of the kettle and began pouring tea.

"Ah! Here he is now!" An obviously excited Sherlock clapped his hands before offering one to a small brown rodent John hadn't noticed scuttle across the counter. "John, I'd like you to meet Basil. He's been coming round for tea."

"Thats a mouse."

"Yes."

"You've been talking to a mouse in the middle of the night."

"Well, we don't just talk….. Its tea…. so we also drink _tea_ and eat biscuits." With his free hand, he prepared Basil's setting as he had the nights before.

"You've been having tea and biscuits with a mouse."

"Yes. I've been having tea and biscuits with a mouse and you are being very rude to him, frankly."

"Me? I'm being rude?"

"Yes, I've conditioned him to expect a handshake upon meeting new people and you haven't even acknowledged him." John squinted his eyes at his friend a bit and looked down at the little creature in his hand, standing on its back legs, its paws were actually a bit out stretched. Returning his attentions to his friend, he saw a subdued eagerness and excitement. Sherlock was hopeful and expectant of John and the doctor decided the best course of action would be to play along and see where this might go.

"Ok." Turning back towards the mouse, he paused. "How have you taught him to shake hands?"

"Just offer your finger."

"My finger?"Another sigh as he stretched his index finger out to the small creature his bizarre friend was oddly attached to."Alright, nice to meet you, Basil. I'm, ah, John."

"Oh, he knows who you are." Sherlock informed him.

"He does, does he?"

"Uh-huh, told him all about you."

"Right. Well, I've heard nothing about you, Basil." John forced a friendly enough smile towards him as Sherlock set him on the table and he climbed onto his saucer. "Right."

"Well, theres not much to really know about Basil. He's a very affectionate flatmate."

"What—?" "Experiment." Clearly uncomfortable, the shorter man adjusted and lifted his own mug to his lips, mostly to keep it off the table and away from the mouse he was trying to understand. Sherlock looked very much like a kid with a new toy at show-and-tell.

"So, uh— yes,… you have….. you have been talking to a mouse?"

"Well he's more interactive than my skull and he's not quite as argumentative as you."

"Because you wouldn't want others opinions to disrupt your thought process." John returned the questioning stare he received by chuckling and taking another drink from his mug.

"You know he's quite clever." The man-child broke the silence.

"I'm certain he is."

"No, I mean, it." Quickly, he dug out his mobile, opened the key board app, set it down. Basil, in response, appeared to clean himself before climbing on. Once again banging out a tune that only meant anything to him.

"And whats that?"

"He plays when he's thinking."

"Like you and your violin?'

"- my violin. - Exactly."

"Well— what—ah, what is he thinking about?" The doctor wondered if maybe an answer would give him a glimpse into his friends seemingly worrisome behavior.

"No idea…. mouse… things."

"Of course…. what kind of problems could a mouse have?" The Nonsense Movement being composed on the table stopped and the creature approached Sherlock, looking up expectantly.

"John, look, now you've upset him." The dark lanky detective picked up the mouse and it crawled onto his shoulder where it was offered more biscuit and a pet.

"That matters why?"

"Well, I'm attempting to socialize him and it won't work out if every interaction is as negative as this one." The two stared at each other a long while. "Apologize."

"I—what?!"

"Apologize. Isn't that what you would have me do if I upset someone? Make me apologize?"

"Yes, but—"

"Well." He offered his shoulder to John who sighed and cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, Basil." Cautiously, he ran a finger along its furry back.

"He doesn't like that." Quickly, he withdrew it.

"Ok."

"Only me."

"Ok, Sherlock." Another awkward silence.

"He can count to two."

"Oh, really. Thats—ah—that's brilliant." Excitedly, Sherlock set up a small demonstration, using bits of biscuit and, while John was certain the mouse was enjoying a nice snack, the other insisted he genuinely could count to two, and appeared a bit offended at the suggestion it was anything different.

"He's just eating biscuit crumbs."

"No, he's only eating two biscuit crumbs."

"He just picked up the two biggest ones."

"But, he had five options and he's done this before. Its not an isolated incident." John grabbed the bridge of his nose. "What makes you so reluctant to believe he can count?"

"Because he's a mouse."

"So, mice can learn."

"Yes, mouse things."

"Counting can be a mouse thing."

"Why are _you_ so convinced he can count?"

"Because he is counting. I taught him." After a moment of exchanging exasperated looks, he continued. "Look, you didn't know how to count until someone taught you. Basil is the same. They don't have little mouse schools or the like, I don't believe."

"So you figured you'd open one up in your kitchen. Well done." John lifted his mug and raised his eyebrows as he took another drink.

"Why exactly do you have a problem with Basil?"

"You're joking, right?" Fighting the laugh was hard, a chortle escaped.

"No, I'm not. What could you possibly have against him. You just met him."

"I don't know, the plague."

"Right, well, if you're going to insist on being rude to my friend—"

"Friend?" "Experiment." The correction was quick. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What, me? You're asking me to leave."

"Thats right."

"And you're serious."

"Yes." John couldn't contain his laughter this time, though he was also concerned for his friends sanity, the situation was beyond absurd to him. "Basil has been nothing but accommodating and you, I'm afraid, are the one causing the problem."

"Right, ok." John finished his tea and grabbed his jacket. "I hope you and your experiment have a very productive tea." Once John was gone, Sherlock turned to his new companion.

"Sorry about that. Very out of character for him. Not sure why he was acting like that."

_Squeak._

"Well, I'm glad you thought so because I'm certain he'll come around." Even Basil could see the worry in his eyes, despite his smile.

—-

John climbed into bed with his fiancée and Mary leaned over, planting a kiss on his forehead before curling onto his chest.

"I figured you'd be a lot later or I would've waited up for you."

"He's talking to a mouse."

"What?"

"Sherlock Holmes is talking to a mouse. They have tea together. He laughs, lets it waddle all over the musical keyboard on his mobile, and is completely convinced he taught it to count."

She thought for a moment.

"Well, I'll definitely be thinking twice about ever touching his phone again." The two shared a laugh. "You're worried about him."

"Of course I am. He called a mouse his new flatmate, his friend and his experiment while we were talking."

"That's cute."

"Cute?"

"Yes, he has a pet." John laughed alone this time.

"I don't know if Sherlock has ever had a pet or even understands why anyone would want one."

"Maybe that's why he doesn't know what to call it." Her partner contemplated this for moment before agreeing and attempting to go to sleep, but try as he might, he couldn't get The Nonsense Movement, as he jokingly decided to call it, out of his head.


	4. Reinforcements

The next afternoon, John was extremely relieved to find Greg Lestrade in the morgue when he went to see Molly Hooper. He was hoping he wouldn't have to talk to them both separately, he already wanted to go home and had most of his day left. Since he was far too preoccupied with his worry over Sherlock, the morning had felt tedious. Why couldn't he have normal friends?

"Hey, Greg, Molly. You two want to come have a coffee with me?" The two had begun, politely, spouting off about the work they were in the middle of when John interrupted. "It's about Sherlock." They exchanged knowing looks, full of concern and dread.

"I'll go get my coat." Molly started to put her work away and disappeared.

"He's not…." Greg was choosing his words carefully.

"No. He's not doing drugs, but theres definitely something going on." The pathologist reappeared, as if on cue, announcing she was ready to go and made her way out, the men at her heels.

"So, John, whats going on?" She asked, once she finally had a coffee in hand.

"I stayed pretty late last night. Mrs. Hudson asked me to,said he's been making a ruckus in the middle of the night…so I stayed and…. uh…."

"What? John, is it serious?" The D.I. was searching his friends face.

"He's been talking to a mouse late at night." The other two paused, coffee at their lips and eyes wide.

"What? Like a pet mouse?" Molly spoke first and finally took a drink.

"Sort of… I'm not sure….He said its been coming round for tea." There was silence, they all stood frozen until Molly stepped forward again.

"Well… does it have a name?"

"A name? Thats your question? Does it have a name?" Greg had plenty of questions about Sherlock and this mouse and whether or not it had a name wasn't exactly on the top of his list.

"Well, does it?" She directed her question at John.

"He calls it Basil."

"What… what is he doing with this mouse?" Lestrade was surprised he finally found the words.

"He gives it tea and biscuits. They talk." John tried to buy himself time by taking a drink and clearing his throat. "Sherlocks been… he's been…uh…."

"Well, spit it out?" The other man insisted.

"He's teaching it things… he made me shake its little paw and tried to convince me it could count."

"Oh, so it is a pet. He's teaching it tricks." Molly chimed in.

"He lets the mouse play with the key board application on his mobile and insists he's thinking."

"You.. think he's impressing himself on this mouse…. like, he's relating to it… in an unhealthy way?" She offered.

"He insisted the mouse only liked being pet by him."

"Why is he playing with a mouse?" The detective inspector was definitely having a hard time focusing. He'd never really heard of Sherlock doing anything like this and was trying to decide how he felt about the matter.

"No idea. He called it flatmate and friend last night, kept correcting with experiment…" John sighed. "I'm not sure what to do… should we be worried?"

"I don't know. I really don't." Greg took a breath. "Did he buy the mouse?" The questioned seemed to throw John off balance and he had to think briefly.

"I don't think so."

"Really, guys, I know its Sherlock and I understand wanting to keep on eye on him, but I think its cute that he has a pet." Molly shook her head and took another drink.

"Maybe, uh,… maybe you two could over there and just… ya know… check it out." The doctor shrugged and glanced at his watch. "Last night the mouse showed up around 11:30, but Mrs. Hudson said she's heard, what I now assume to be Sherlock discuss us with a mouse, at all hours." He ended that statement with a rather annoyed and exhausted tone. Since he had come back, the past few days had done more to convince John that Sherlock was going to be the death of him then the years they'd been flatmates. Whether that was from a heart attack, seizure from unknowingly becoming an experiment, or a gunshot, he wasn't certain yet.

"Well, I mean, I suppose I could pop in. But, we can't go together and we can't mention the mouse first." Molly fussed with her braid, if John wasn't sure whether or not to be concerned, maybe she shouldn't blow it off so quickly. Obviously, he found his friends behavior very odd and that was nothing to dismiss, he knew Sherlock, arguably better than the two of them.

"Right, yeah. Not a bad idea. I mean, we don't want to overreact here." Greg shrugged."But, thats so weird. He just talks to it?"

"Mrs. Hudsons says she's heard him laughing, too."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. Said one time it shook the walls."

"And he was talking to this mouse?"

"Basil." Molly interjected and when the two men gave her questioning stares, she raised her eyebrows. "Well, he does have a name, now, doesn't he?" They could really only acknowledge she was right and turn their attention back to each other.

"So… uh… which one of us should go first?" The detective deferred to the doctors expertise on this matter.

"I was thinking Molly."

"What, me? Why?" She managed to control her voices pitch, but not the panicked speed at which the words left her lips was another thing.

"Well, I dunno… you're a woman… he might respond differently to that?" He wanted to sound more decisive because he did think it was a valid reason, but it didn't sound as well thought out and intelligent as he had previously planned. Surprisingly, though, all she did was nod and her smile gave a bit of an understanding twinge as she accepted and informed them she'd stop by after her shift, it'd be late anyway. "Good, its decided. Molly will stop by tonight, report back, and in a few nights, we'll our send in our D.I. to investigate further." They all shared a nervous laugh before departing.

Naming a mouse and talking to it are definitely odd things for some people to be doing. And maybe a bit out of character for Sherlock Holmes. Although, he had seemed to like Toby well enough, even let him sit on his lap when he was 'thinking' on several occasions so Molly wasn't convinced it wasn't too far fetched for Sherlock to adopt a pet of his own, but she couldn't shake the fact that John was worried. It made her wonder what exactly John saw in Sherlocks behavior last night that made him so anxious and decide to seek out the help of Greg and herself. She put her concern to bed as soon as she stepped back into the morgue, though, she'd find out soon enough just how odd their resurrected consulting detective friend was behaving in good time.

* * *

**Sorry its taking so long to get the next chapter up, been distracted by some personal things and other pieces. Its coming, though, I'm hoping to at least have one new chapter up this week, if not more. I am by no means done with this story at all. **


	5. First Impressions

It was raining when Molly Hooper left St. Barts to head off to Baker Street, She'd even texted Sherlock. After all Tom wasn't going to be home tonight, so she could stay as late as she wanted. The consulting detective actually seemed to like the idea of Molly stopping by…. after all, he was nearly out of biscuits.  
Despite the rain she had the taxi drop her up the street at the shop and, after getting the biscuits, she walked the rest of the way to his flat. When she reached the top of the stairs, he was perched, facing out the window.  
"Brought the biscuits." Molly shook the box jovially, and he turned and smiled in response.  
"Tom works a lot of nights?" He asked, once they were in the kitchen as he put on the kettle.

"Oh, yeah. I mean, not all the time… just… often." She smiled and fought the urge to jump as the notorious Basil made his appearance, dancing across the counter at the sound of the kettle whistle.  
"Ah, Molly, I'd like you to meet my… experiment… Basil." Sherlock allowed him to climb into the palm of his hand before presenting him to the pathologist.  
"Hello, Basil." She smiled and glanced up at Sherlock. She'd only seen that type of look on him when he was attempting to flirt with her and manipulate her. It was expectant and hopeful… quickly, she looked back down at the mouse, steadied on his back paws, and cautiously took one of them and 'shook hands'. "How do you do?" Molly couldn't help but giggle and Sherlock's smile twitched a bit, widening. He seemed to be studying her reaction as he set up the mouse's place setting. John's reaction must have really shaken him. It was clear to her he was very excited about the mouse. Maybe that's what John saw and he knew Sherlock doesn't get excited over much more than a good murder. "I use to have a hamster." She blurted out, not thinking. "I mean, as a pet… when I was younger."

"Oh." He fidgeted for a moment, before pulling out his phone. "Basil is-uh- really clever. See?" Just as John described, he set the phone on the table with the keyboard app open and the tiny mouse crawled over it. Delighting in the sounds. "I —uh— think he uses it sort of like I use my violin." He smiled.  
"That so cool." Molly smiled, sipping at her tea.  
As if he realized she had complimented him, Basil approached her… a bit cautiously at first, but once she offered her arm, he climbed up on her shoulder and began playing with her braid. Perhaps making a nest. She really wasn't sure, but it didn't bother her. She'd had more disgusting things in her hair than anything that mouse could put there and she was going to wash it, anyway. If she didn't know any better, she would say the look Sherlock was giving her was one of jealousy.  
"Now, Basil. You just met her." He gingerly removed the creature. "Lets not get too friendly." With a smile, Sherlock excitedly moved on. "I've taught him how to count to three."  
"OH! Wow! Can I see?" Happy to oblige, he mashed up a biscuit and commanded the rodent to count. "What a clever creature! Have you taught him anything else?" She leaned over and gave Basil a small stroke, not noticing Sherlock's look of momentary surprise.  
"Well, he is a mouse… it's impressive he can count at all. Took a lot of time to teach him that."  
"Oh, I'm sure! He shouldn't have the capacity for that. Lucky he found you." They exchanged warm smiles, but Sherlock didn't let his eyes move from her hand and the mouse for very long. He was jealous. Sherlock was jealous that Basil may like her better. When he cleared his throat, she realized he probably deduced that she was deducing him.  
"It's getting rather late, Molly. Don't you have an early shift tomorrow?"  
"Well, not that early. I don't have to go."  
"Yes, but with your problems with insomnia, it may be best to get a jump start on your evening." She gently scoffed at the dismissal, but politely agreed and took her leave.  
As her feet hit the pavement, she shot out a text.  
I'm still convinced it's just a pet. But I never pictured Sherlock to be one of those strange dog ladies. - Molly  
Only with a mouse. - Molly  
What? - JW  
You know, the kind that let their dogs lick their face. - Molly  
So, you don't think we should worry?- JW  
Only when it dies. - Molly  
Ok. Thats what Mary thinks, too. I guess I overreacted.- JW  
Yeah, Sherlock is a strange old woman, deep down. - Molly

"Well, you seemed to like her." Sherlock sat down at the table and munched at a biscuit.  
squeak.  
"What? I didn't push her out. She was ready to go anyway." He spoke, mouth still mostly full.  
squeak.  
"No, you're wrong. She was tired. I just brought it to her attention." He glowered down at his new friend, who gave him a skeptical expression. "She did seem more open to you than John… I found that odd."  
squeak.  
"I was just saying, she seemed a bit excited about meeting you. Thats all." Sherlock leaned back a bit, still chewing. "I wonder why…." He closed his eyes and let out a long exhale. "John. John told her."


	6. Of Strings And Things

Sherlock breathed in the air of the crime scene with a smile in his heart, but not on his face. Crime scenes always did that to him; a new case, a new game, but he prided himself on not revealing this on scene. After all, he was famous for not seeming very , excitement at a crime scene was very… 'not good'. He did notice, very easily, however,that some people there were staring at him. It wasn't unusual,especially given he had just resurrected, but he knew it had to do more with that fact that he'd just put a biscuit inside the left breast pocket of his Belstaff and it had been received by tiny, mousy hands.

Word of Basil had spread, obviously.

Refusing to let it bother him, he continued into the building, ignoring the whispers and giggles and even Lestrade's nervous stare.

"Are.. are you ok, Sherlock? Do we need to talk?" Lestrade approached, leaning in to whisper.

"Talk? Yes, of course! There is a murder victim on the floor." No interest was expressed in his friends attempt to investigate his behavior; there were more pressing matters at hand.

"No, no, I mean,… the mouse… in your pocket." Greg hadn't become a D.I. by chance and could be just as stubborn as Sherlock when necessary.

"Oh,he's with me." Sherlock gave his breast a pat and flashed a smile, before kneeling next to the corpse.

"Yeah, I know, I get that…"The DI winced at the squeak, "but, why?"

"Why not?" Sherlock rose again to meet his friends eyes and began studying him in a manner that, though Greg was accustomed to, still made him uncomfortable.

"Its just…. odd." He sighed. "And I'm fairly certain illegal." Sherlock snorted at this and returned to his former state, snapping on a pair of gloves and poking at the body.

"I don't know why you're fussing, Gabe. Officers bring dogs onto crime scenes often."

"And you." He was resisting the urge to pull his hair out at this point. "And by the way, its Greg. G-R-E-G, for god sakes. I don't know why thats so hard for you." As usual, he was ignored as Sherlock continued his work; insisting on silence. "Sherlock, why is the mouse here?" He found himself raising his voice and Sherlock sighed in response.

"John is… unavailable, currently."

"What about Molly?" Greg crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby wall.

"Also…otherwise engaged."

"Interesting choice of words." He jabbed at his brooding friend.

"Shut up." Sherlock spat and gingerly released the mouse from his pocket.

"You can't…is that a crime scene suit?" Greg truly had no words. The tiny brown mouse was wearing a suit similar to the one he himself was wearing and Sherlock frequently refused to wear. Complete with booties, gloves and a hood that revealed only the rodents face and ears, he was covered in a protective, meticulously made blue body suit.

"Well, I didn't suspect you would have the proper gear."

"So.. you bought him a suit?"

"Of course not." Sherlock insisted. "I made it."

"You made it?"

"You doubt my ability to tailor?" Greg realized four eyes were staring up at him, confused and frustrated as well as a bit affronted.

"No, I just… I never thought about it." Sherlock looked away with a shrug, dismissing the interaction.

"Now, Basil, want to help me solve this ladies murder?" Having no choice but to look on, confused and a bit horrified to hear Sherlock use a higher octave of his voice, he simply did just that and observed.

As carefully as possible, Sherlock set Basil on the dead body and both seemed to go about their separate tasks. Though, much to Gregs disgust, Basil made his way into the poor woman's mouth. With the speed that Sherlock worked, it was unsurprising that, after another 45 seconds, Sherlock seemed pleased with the out come.

"Well, Basil," He asked, cheerfully. "Did you find anything?" To further Gregs shock and surprise, the mouse did appear to be holding something.

"Did— did that mouse just hand you evidence?" He was having a hard time processing what had just taken place.

"He sure did, George—"

"Greg."

"He found an interesting fiber. Definitely left by the killer." He offered Lestrade a large smile as his eyes lit up.

"In her mouth?"

"Oh, yes, must of asphyxiated her with something made of this." He muttered, placing it into a bag with a bit of child like excitement.

"He brought you a fiber he found in her mouth." Sherlock paused and looked up at Greg again, eyes searching.

"Yes."

"How—what?—Sherlock, you can't let a mouse help you investigate crimes."

"I beg to differ, I believe I just did."

"Thats not even— You!" Another heavy sigh as Greg began to pace. Sherlock merely looked on like an oblivious child. "This— this is ridiculous, Sherlock. I don't understand."

"Whats not to understand? I've trained a mouse to specially assist me in my work. I must say,_ I _don't understand what you find so perplexing about that." During the next moment of extended silence, they merely exchanged glares.

"Ok." Lestrade threw his hands up and Sherlock retrieved his mouse friend to replace him in the breast pocket inside his Belstaff. Not a word was said between the two men as Greg reopened the crime scene to his crew and Sherlock brushed passed in a huff…obviously on his way to St. Barts.


End file.
